


The Sweetest Taste

by DawnOfTomorrow



Series: Sugar Me Good [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Actual communication between the boys, Angst, Chris just wanted to enjoy his evening, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, References to past consensual sex with a minor, So so so extra, They need it, Victor Nikiforov is Extra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:05:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17400566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnOfTomorrow/pseuds/DawnOfTomorrow
Summary: Sequel to my Reverse Sugar Daddy AU - Victor and Yuuri are right back where they started. Victor is sending him the most ridiculous gifts, Yuuri wants to get... closer. He gets his wish - to see inside Victor's mind - when the man sends him an old diary he kept.He follows that up with tickets to the Grand Prix final - first class, of course. Messages are exchanged and once again, Yuuri and Victor are in a hotel room together. This time the lights stay on and they actually talk. Feelings are exposed and misunderstandings cleared up.Naturally, Victor is extremely over the top and Yuuri sort of forgets to mention something really important until the next morning. Oh well...





	The Sweetest Taste

The second time Victor started sending Yuuri gifts was nothing like the first time. Well, actually, it was EXACTLY like the first time. Also, not at all. A bottle of whiskey first, then a box of chocolates – still the kind he liked, still ridiculously expensive.

There were no letters now though, only the gifts. He couldn’t help but wonder if there was a reason – did Victor not want to talk? His gifts were too expensive to be some kind of taunt or mockery; besides he didn’t think that was his style.

That left him with preciously few clues as to what was happening. He found himself spending all of his free time at home, waiting for another package, another… something. It wasn’t that he wanted the gifts of course, he wanted another sign from the other man, something to tell him what he was dealing with.

He didn’t know how Victor felt now – angry? Yuuri had rejected him very coldly. Apologetic? Victor had done something horrible to him, even if Yuuri hadn’t known it at the time. Embarrassed? To a more mature man, his behaviour may well be embarrassing.

Yuuri couldn’t help the constant state of worry as he paced his flat – he lived alone now, Phichit having moved out some years ago. He could afford it now, his job at a dance studio having turned into him having his own studio. He worked at a hospital one day per week, as a physical therapist – in short, affording a 2-bed flat in Detroit was well within his means now.

When finally, after an eternity that was closer to three days, a knock on the door told him a new package was there for him, he could have wept from joy. Accepting the parcel from the deliveryman, he hardly waited to close the door before opening the package.

Victor’s third gift had been a white throw, a fur imitation blanket he still kept, treasured for more than its sinful feel on his body. He knew though, before he opened it, that that wasn’t what was in that package – it was too small, far too heavy.

Indeed he was proven right – inside sat something else. Still a gift he had received before… sort of, anyway. It was a black notebook, very much like the one filled with photos he’d received before.

It was different though, the second one. For one, Yuuri could see it was older, had been used and handled a lot. While it wasn’t fraying per se, the leather binding was bare in places, the edges of the spine a little rough to the touch, a few pages dog-eared and then straightened again.

Fingers shaking, he opened the notebook.

Scanning the page, he quickly learned its purpose – a diary.

Gulping, he leafed to the first entry, barely paying any attention to the date on it. In essence, he held in his hands what he’d wanted since the beginning – access to Victor’s private thoughts, to him as a person.

‘Dear diary,

My therapist suggested I try this a long time ago but I laughed it off – I never had any desire to write down anything about my day. I was there, after all, what would be the point? This morning… I wanted to.

Last night I met the most beautiful man in the world. He was a bit older, I think, and we spoke about poodles, chocolate and so much more, and all in the middle of a club filled with drunken hooligans.

It was the best night of my life.’

Yuuri wasn’t even surprised when he felt tears dripping down his cheeks. Despite years of longing, he didn’t remember the night they met, nothing except for faint sensations – hair between his fingers, alcohol and skin on his tongue.

It was one of his biggest regrets. Turning the page, a note slipped out of the book, slipping off the table and under his chair. In his eagerness to pick it up, he banged the back of his head against the table, cursing under his breath at his own stupidity.

The note wasn’t part of the diary.

‘Yuuri,

The original was written in Russian – I took the liberty to translate it a long time ago and thought I would send it to you now. I hope this will help you understand, maybe even forgive me someday.

V’

So the other man felt bad, thought Yuuri was still angry… and truth be told, he WAS still angry. He loved him, desperately, but he was angry too, for the lies, the deception, the betrayal of everything that had happened.

Back of his head still throbbing, he read the next entry either way.

‘Dear diary.

It feels like a week has passed not a day. I can’t stop thinking about him. I’ve danced with people before, why was he so different? I don’t even know what we danced, maybe something Latin? He was so beautiful, led me so well.

He came with me when I invited him to my hotel room. I don’t even know why I did it, but I didn’t want him to leave. His friend came too, and his hook-up. They took photos of us… I know Yakov says I have to mind my image in public but I can’t delete them.

Is that wrong of me? God, I can still remember his hands on me.’

Yuuri gulped – so Phichit had been the one who took the one photo Victor had sent him of their encounter. His friend who normally held his alcohol that way had blacked out too – he remembered no more than Yuuri did.

He turned another page.

‘Dear diary,

I looked him up online, found out where he works and got his address from them. That’s…bad, isn’t it? I’m sure it is. I just… I wanted to thank him. I bought him a bottle of whiskey, the same kind we had at the bar in my room.

I wonder if he’ll like it? Does he remember it as much as I do? I can barely go a few minutes without remembering being on that barstool. I wasn’t even serious when I asked him if he wanted to try body shots, but he just said ‘sure’ and poured it down my shirt? Who DOES that?

It was SO hot.’

Nothing too surprising there, save for a reinforcement to something he already knew – yes, Drunk Yuuri knew how to have fun, but letting him out unsupervised was a terrible, terrible idea.

He flicked to the next entry, several days later.

‘Dear diary,

Ohgod I keep doing it, can’t stop. I sent him chocolates because he said he likes them? He must think I’m some stalker now? Except… I already bought his next gift? I wanted him in my bed so I bought him the same throw I have. It’s not the same thing but maybe it’ll come close? My throw is the same colour as his hair, but his hair was SO MUCH SOFTER.

Am I bothering him? Should I stop? I probably should.’

Yuuri snickered quietly – it seemed teenage Vitya had been a bit… well, a bit more like teenage Yuuri than the man’s behaviour and letters had let on. A façade, one he’d wanted to see behind for so long… he nearly ripped the next page, turning it.

‘Dear diary,

My arm is going to fall off. He sent me PICTURES! I’ve never even seen anything that hot. He’s naked in them, just my throw and my shirt… I want him so, so, so much. What could I give him next? Some part of me wants to just go in person but I can’t, can I?

I’m just going to have to keep wanking until I get tennis arm and have to sit a season out. Yakov is going to kill me.

At least then I’ll be able to sleep without dreaming of Yuuri in my bed.

Maybe.’

He smirked – Yuuri HADN’T been naked in the photos, actually, but he’d made it look that way. He flicked the page.

‘Dear diary,

Oh god, I did something stupid, something so so so so so stupid! I asked Chris for help and we took photos of me. They looked really good and my face isn’t in them but he could get in trouble for having them, couldn’t he?

I shouldn’t have sent them but I just… I need him to want me, even a little. It’s driving me crazy. Chris says I’m an idiot and that I should just go see him… but Chris doesn’t know how old he is either.

Why is this so complicated?’

There was an addition to this entry, like a foot-note, added below.

‘He called me breath-taking, oh god. Those pictures are the best thing I ever did.’

He snorted – the pictures HAD been good – absolute works of art. The next entry was several days later yet again, and quite short.

‘Dear diary,

I sent him a new phone so that if he sends me more photos, they’ll be higher quality and maybe I can print them. I’m going to hell, aren’t I?’

He laughed outright at that one – Victor’s letter about his phone had said something about noticing Yuuri’s phone needed replacing. Clearly, the truth had been a bit more selfish.

Victor’s next gift had been his medal – an Olympic medal. Automatically, he went to the bedroom to retrieve it, fingers playing with the metal as he read the next entry.

‘Dear diary,

It’s the day before my free skate… I’m so nervous. I know my routine is good and all, but what if Yuuri watches? I don’t know if he likes skating but if he does, he’ll see… and then he’ll know my age and he’ll hate me.

I’m skating for him but I don’t want him to see it. That’s so messed up.

He deserves better.’

Yuuri’s heart clenched – he hadn’t expected that the other man felt guilt for his deception from the start. He’d always thought that it started as a game, just something entertaining. He’d never thought that Victor had been serious about the whole thing long before Yuuri had. He hadn’t expected the… maturity, really.

The next entry was a short one again.

‘Dear diary,

I’m going to die. Yuuri is going to kill me. He sent me a photo of him in the shower, of him LICKING the medal. I want him to lick me instead. Yakov doesn’t even yell anymore when I space out at the rink.’

Yakov – Yuuri knew the name, had known it for years, ever since he started to follow skating. Victor’s coach, a strict-looking man with a less than full head of hair. He turned the page.

‘Dear diary,

I’m a complete idiot. I wasn’t even thinking when I sent him the last batch of things. I went shopping in Zurich and I just… I just sent him stuff I bought with him in mind? And it was all fine, except… except I sent him the rope? I mean, I would literally sell my skates to have him tie me up, but he didn’t need to know that?

He was already worried I wanted sex for the gifts, he probably hates me now.

Or worse, what if he doesn’t hate me, what if he wants to meet or maybe have sex? I obviously can’t ever do that, can’t meet him. He could go to prison for it… stupid laws. Why can’t I be older? I want him, so, so much. Why do I have to wait a year to be allowed to like him?

I hope he doesn’t think the rope is creepy.’

Yuuri had, in fact, not thought that, not at all. He’d been worried Victor had meant to tie him up, something he wasn’t really into… but no. He’d figured it out, and he’d sent a gift back – the first and only time, photos excepting.

He had a good idea of what the next entry would cover.

‘Dear diary,

I’m the worst. I did it, I met with him. I had sex with him. He sent me this beautiful, gorgeous collar and it was so unfair – how did he even KNOW? I haven’t taken it out for more than a few hours at a time. People are starting to ask about my turtlenecks and scarves.

I’m so in love with him.

I never actually said it out loud before, have I? It’s true though, so, so true. He came to me, all sleek, sensual and so, so hot. He wasn’t my first but how can anything ever compare to that? It was like he could read my mind, knew just what I wanted, needed.

Is it just the age difference? Is it his experience? I wonder how many people he’s been with. I’m jealous of them all, how stupid is that? I shouldn’t have met him, I can’t meet him again. What if next time he actually sees me properly and figures it out? I shouldn’t have risked it but when I saw that collar…

Why am I not allowed to want him, to have him?’

Lips pressed into a thin line, Yuuri allowed himself to think of their first time together, something he rarely did. At the time, it had been spectacular, had been every wet dream he’d ever had. He hadn’t known that Victor was a child, resented him a little for tainting a wonderful memory that way.

He flipped another page.

‘Dear diary,

I can’t stop thinking about his hands on my ass. Why am I like this?’

There were several more short entries afterwards, a day apart each.

‘Dear diary,

I want to see him in high heels. Will he think I’m disgusting for wanting something like that? What’s wrong with me.’

‘Dear diary,

I offended him and I panicked. Are a thousand roses enough to apologise? Should I have sent more? The shop said they couldn’t get more so quickly…’

‘Dear diary,

I can’t forget his touch. I hope he won’t ask to meet me again because I’ll probably say yes.’

‘Dear diary,

Is it selfish to send him gifts because I want him to have things not because he wants them?’

He snorted – of course the extravagant man would think that spending tens of thousands of dollars on someone else in exchange for nothing might be selfish. A tendril of fondness snuck through him, soothing some of the ache he still felt.

The next entry was a little longer again.

‘Dear diary,

Oh god I sent him a riding crop. I was SO embarrassed I forgot to add the letter that I wrote and I thought he’d be mad but he wasn’t? And then… he sent me this picture and I got it while I was at training. I feel stupid for even describing it, but he put on those heels I sent him a while back and snapped a photo and oh god his legs?

I know he dances but I didn’t get a good look obviously because if I had I’d have never let him leave the night we met. How is he so perfect?

I’ve jerked off at the bathroom at the rink more than Yura by now. I’m pathetic.’

He decided not to think about the last line too much, nor about the implication that he wasn’t the only man to do that, apparently? He’d never jerked himself off at any of the dance studios he’d been at. Was it a common thing? He hoped not.

He considered skipping the next entry – he knew it would probably cover their next encounter…their very kinky encounter.

Yuuri forced himself to read the text anyway.

‘Dear diary,

I did it again and it was SO GOOD. I didn’t even know I liked half the stuff he did until he did it.

Will he get mad if I send him a wedding ring next? Maybe we can get married and I can just never tell him how old I am? Yeah right.

What he did though… the shoes, the riding crop, EVERYTHING. It’s not fair that he is that good at taking me apart. I could barely move this morning. I wonder if he’ll be mad if he ever finds out I took pictures of him while he slept? I have so few pictures and I worry constantly that he’ll throw me away soon, that I’ll have to make do with what I already have.’

He sighed deeply – it was a strange sort of relief that Victor hadn’t simply disregarded the risk he put Yuuri in, that he had worried, that he had felt remorse even. Yuuri hadn’t been gentle with him, in the belief he had been with someone his own age. To think that…

No, he told himself – he wouldn’t go there.

He turned the page.

‘Dear diary,

He’s so wonderful. I wonder if we can keep this up until I’m old enough? What if I tell him, if I explain? Would he understand? What am I saying? Of course not. I hate this.’

Heart clenching painfully, Yuuri paused. Victor had suffered while he had been blissfully unaware – somehow, he had never paid too much mind to how the other man might have felt back then, too caught up in his own hurt and rage to even consider Victor may have been anything other than smug or perhaps happy.

It hurt a little, to hear so plainly that Victor had been in pain from the beginning. He had never let him see any of it, in the half dozen times they’d been together in person – Yuuri thought he should have known, somehow.

He turned the page.

‘Dear diary,

He’s so sweet? I can’t cope. He sent me a photo of himself dancing again. I’ve never loved ballet more than since I’ve met him? I wonder if he liked the shoes I begged off Lilia. She must have thought I was crazy. Does he know how hard it was to get them? I didn’t want to say, didn’t want him to think I was bragging…’

Yuuri smiled weakly – he didn’t remember the exact picture this referred to but he DID use those black pointe shoes from time to time – still had them, actually, though they were no longer in good enough shape to use.

‘Dear diary,

He came to me again. It was gentle this time. I thought it would always be kinky somehow, and I feel like he ambushed me with this. I wasn’t ready, my heart wasn’t prepared? I liked the rope, the crop and all that, but he was slow this time, so thorough. I thought I was going to melt… and his stamina? He’s not even human, I’m sure of it.

Does he think I’m good in bed? Is he just humouring me because he’s too nice to reject me? God, I want to buy him a CAR.’

Yuuri frowned. He remembered the incident, of course. It had been one of his attempts to get the other man to open up to him. He’d been slow, careful, hoping to get Victor to open up, to pillow-talk something personal out of him.

Unfortunately they were a volatile combination in bed, kinky or not, and they had both passed out after a few rounds of sex… Yuuri had woken up alone.

‘Dear diary,

I’m going to marry that man someday. I don’t know when or how but I WILL.’

He had no idea what had prompted that entry – the date didn’t give him any hints, but the simplicity, the determination of it made him blush – even through the eyes of a teenager…had he really been that great? Half the time, YUURI had been the one terrified he’d make a fool of himself, that Victor would tire of him and lose interest.

His fingers gripped the pages tighter as he flipped another page – he was nearing the end of the book already, and strangely, he dreaded it.

‘Dear diary,

I met him again. I was going to tell him this time. I was going to end it, even, but then he gave me this look and ended up sucking him off. I’m really stupid, aren’t I? I keep making it worse every time, but I can’t help it. I want it, him, so, so, so badly.

Everything, anything. I wish I’d never started this game. Maybe we could have been friends? Maybe… maybe then I could never have him, but he’d at least know me, the real me. I want to know the real him too. I’ve seen glimpses of him so many times… I want him.

How can I fix this mess?’

Yuuri knew, of course, though Victor hadn’t, that that had been their second to last sexual encounter. He also knew what would likely come next – he wasn’t disappointed, much as his heart clenched painfully in his chest as he read on.

‘Dear diary,

I’m in agony. He keeps asking me out and I want to say yes so, so, so much. It breaks my heart every time I have to say no. He’s asked me to coffee, dinner… I want to go, so badly, but it’s not safe. If there are other people, I might get recognised… even if I pick somewhere dark, all it would take is a badly-timed flash of light and he might see.

I’m lucky he hasn’t realised how young I look already.

I hate my stupid face. If I looked older than younger, I could meet him. If I WAS older, I could just… be with him. I want it so bad, not just the sex, everything. He talks in his sleep, sometimes. Tells me things. He likes tea, hates caramel. He’s afraid of spiders, how precious is that? I listen, sometimes, when he falls asleep first, before I have to go.’

At the time, he hadn’t thought much of the texts he’d sent, asking to meet up. He’d been desperate to get to know Victor, but now that he realised that the other man had struggled with things too, from the beginning, his repeated requests made him feel terrible – unknowingly, he’d made Victor suffer.

He sighed, knowing full-well what came next.

‘Dear diary,

I saw him again because I’m weak. I’m probably not going to stop. I just… can’t. I’ll have to wait until he gets sick of me or figures it out and then deal with my broken heart. I have no other choice, I can’t tell him no.

He crooks his finger and I come running. Isn’t this pathetic?’

The last time they’d been together. In his frustration, Yuuri had decided to put an end to things after that. Well, to be more precise, he’d texted Victor to either meet him in his studio or to end things.

Callous, it felt, now that he knew how the other had felt up to that point.

Yuuri knew his heart was about to break yet again, even before he turned the page.

‘Dear diary,

It’s over, it’s going to be over. He wants me to meet him in his studio. He’s going to know. I’m going, of course, I have no other choice. Maybe… maybe he’ll be okay with it? Somehow? Maybe he loves me too? Maybe we can move past this. I’d give up skating if it meant we could be together.’

He hadn’t been prepared, he realised when he saw the text, read it, read it again. Victor was – objectively – the best figure skater to ever live. He had been willing to give up skating for him? He wanted to dismiss the comment as thoughtless but he was paying attention this time, to what Victor was saying, not like five years ago, with those letters.

He heard the truth, for what it was worth. Tears flowing again, he turned the page.

‘Dear diary,

I met him. He was… disgusted. He hates me. He said I don’t understand what love is but I DO, I really DO! I learned, I’ve been learning what it is. I know it from the way he touches me, holds me, I know it from the way he stares when he thinks I’m not looking or paying attention. I learned what love is from HIM, from the first time we danced together, I’ve known.

How can he say I don’t know when HE taught me? And now it’s over – all I have is photos and memories. Am I going to feel empty again?

I’m so scared.’

Scared, Victor had been scared. A little angry, very hurt and apparently also scared. He cursed – clearly even back then, Victor had deserved better than Yuuri. How had he been so blind? His own pain so prevalent he never bothered to look at Victor. If he’d stayed…

He shook his head. Yuuri knew better – it had taken him five years to move to a point where he could see Victor’s side of things. Staying wouldn’t have made a difference. He turned the page – only four more left.

‘Dear diary,

It’s been a month. The stuff I read said it would get better. Why isn’t it getting better? It’s supposed to hurt less, not more. I sent him a letter, but I don’t think he read it. I didn’t expect a reply either way but I feel like he probably didn’t read it.

He was so angry, so disgusted. I never wanted to see disgust. I could have dealt with just anger but he was disgusted with me. I see it every time I close my eyes.’

He HAD read the letter – had thought, then, that he understood because of that letter, but he had been nowhere near ready to forgive the other. He wasn’t sure he was now, much as his heart bled for Victor.

‘Dear diary,

A full year has passed. I’m still skating for him. My new therapist says that skating is good for me, that it’ll help me forget Yuuri.

He’s a complete idiot. How can I forget Yuuri if every single program I create is for him? If every jump, every step is for him?

Not to mention, if the guy knew Yuuri, he’d know that forgetting Yuuri is impossible. I don’t want to either – Yuuri is the best thing about me. People love my skating and I’m doing it for him. I said I’d wait for him and I will, I swear I will.’

The second to last entry was dated another year after the previous one. It was… long.

‘Dear diary,

I have a better therapist now. This one listens to me when I say things. She gets it, I think? Maybe it’s her job or maybe she’s felt like this, but she gets it. She doesn’t tell me to stop skating for Yuuri… she told me to change the message though.

I gave it a try. I love him but I’m also MAD at him. He hurt me. Yes, I wronged him, and badly so, but… but he hurt me too, and I’m allowed to be angry, upset. I just think I had to forgive myself for what I did to him first.

I’m not sure I really HAVE forgiven myself, if I’m honest, but at least I want to. I made a mistake, I made several actually, but I wasn’t trying to hurt him. All I wanted was for him to be happy. That’s why I started the gifts at first, and I shouldn’t have lost sight of that.

My therapist asked me what I’d do different if I got a chance to do it all over. I wanted to say nothing but then I thought about it for a bit and I realised I probably wouldn’t have sent him the letters.

Just the gifts would have been better. He’d have never responded, things would never have gotten complicated. I wouldn’t have gotten to spend all of that time with him and yes, that would be a shame, but it would have saved us both a lot of pain.

I wonder if he’s happy now? With someone else? Maybe he even has kids? I tried it, with other people. I don’t think there will be anyone else. Maybe in a few more years.

Maybe…’

To say he was surprised would be an understatement – he checked quickly, and the entry he’d just read roughly corresponded to the time Victor had cut his hair into the short style he wore now. Had it been symbolic? Clearly, the man had changed a lot in that year, whatever had happened.

He found himself desperately wanting to know, suddenly, what had made Victor mature so much in that time. Sighing, he looked at the last entry – to his surprise, there were two, wedged closely together. Every other page had only held one.

They were another year later, less than a year ago, and three months apart.

‘Dear diary,

I messed up – haven’t done that in a while, not like this. I went to see him. Not in person, I don’t deserve that, but I sat in the café opposite of his studio. I could just see him through an open window. He was teaching a class, kids, I think.

He looked happy. Even though I know that I shouldn’t have gone, I was so relieved to see that he’s happy. I know my therapist and Yakov and Yura are going to be mad at me for going but it had been years already…

How is he still so beautiful? It’s like he hasn’t aged a day.’

‘Dear diary,

Another season is starting soon. I still look, at every competition, I check the stands for hazel eyes and black hair. I dream about it sometimes – about him showing up at a competition, calling out to me, me winking at him and then… then us meeting up after I’m done skating.

I’ve accepted it though, that it probably won’t happen. That’s okay, really. If I spend the rest of my life skating for him, as long as he’s happy, I can be a little happy too.

I just hope he sometimes remembers me. From time to time. If I get to ask for anything at all, it would be that.’

Yuuri stared at the page for a long time before closing the notebook and putting it down, gently, gingerly. The last few messages, the ones that were months, years apart even… he couldn’t believe the change in them. Victor seemed so different, so much more mature, so much more… accepting.

He knew, of course, that even at 16 Victor had been smart as a whip and mature beyond his years or he would have never been able to arrange things like he had, wouldn’t have managed to fool Yuuri like he had.

To say that he was relieved by the positive tones in the last few entries would be an understatement. So what if Yuuri hadn’t moved on, so what if he still watched every single interview and skate Victor did? That didn’t matter compared to the relief of knowing that the pain that he’d caused him was fading.

Smiling softly, he realised that he’d spent nearly three hours with the notebook – it had seemed like mere minutes to him. Gently caressing the notebook, he thought back to when he’d seen Victor skate in person.

He hadn’t been sure if Victor even still remembered, not really. He wasn’t sure if him NOT remembering would have been better or worse, but either way, Victor was healing. It was probably time for Yuuri to do the same.

He laid awake that night, wondering if he could forgive what had happened… or if maybe, a little part of him already had?

 

* * *

 

He hadn’t been sure whether he’d receive anything else after the notebook. Reading it had been so…momentous, so arresting, it had felt like the end of something – he thought it might have been the gifts.

He was wrong. Six days after the notebook, a strawberry cake was delivered to his door, no card but just in time for his birthday.

Four days later, the next package held the latest iPhone model and a new case – this one was held in the same style as one of Victor’s skating outfits – a pink uniform/suit. A note accompanied it – ‘For old time’s sake’, nothing else.

Yuuri had still been using the same phone he’d been given all those years ago, and the same case, though it was a bit worse for wear.

Truthfully, a new one was actually long overdue, but it still felt a little odd to no longer look at tiny poodles on the back of his phone. Still, he was grateful for it, as he always had been.

 

* * *

 

The next package came without a note again – a bottle of quality sake. He knew the occasion – Victor had just skated at the NHK Trophy in Yuuri’s home country. He’d won gold of course, and Yuuri had been just a touch disappointed that Victor hadn’t sent him the medal he’d won, before scolding himself.

He didn’t know what they were, now, but they definitely weren’t like… that. Not any more.

Probably never again.

Yuuri fell asleep clutching the Olympic medal that night, after drinking far, far, far too much sake and watching videos of Victor’s skating performances.

 

* * *

 

Come morning, he was woken up by the insistent ringing of his phone. Blearily, he checked the caller ID – Phichit. Really, his friend knew better than to call at ass o’clock, he thought as he stared out the window at the beginning of the sunrise.

“Phisshit?” He greeted, just a little concerned that something was wrong. “Good morning sleeping beauty. Enjoying your hangover?” His friend snickered. “Howd’you know I drank?”

Phichit’s laughter worried him, more than he cared to admit.

“Well, Yuuri, you’ll have to check YouTube, I’m afraid, if you want to know that. I recognise Drunk Yuuri when I see him, and last night’s upload was DEFINITELY Drunk Yuuri.” He groaned – what in the world had he done?

“Phichit… what is it?” His friend sighed. “Well, it’s a video of you dancing. On your personal channel.” That… wasn’t so bad. He uploaded videos of himself or his students dancing sometimes, to garner interest in his studio

“Okay?” “Well, this video is a tad different? It’s… you improvising a routine. To a song.” “What song?” Praying it wasn’t Britney Spears this time, he held his breath. “Well, it’s the song a certain silver-haired skater skated to this season. Something you want to tell me, Yuuri?”

Cursing loudly, a now wide-awake Yuuri shot out of bed. “What? I… what? No! How could I… oh god. Please tell me it’s at least good?” Phichit snorted. “Actually, it’s great. Seriously, one of the best routines I’ve ever seen you do… where did you get those shoes though? Didn’t think strappy leather was your thing.”

Yuuri whimpered and hung up on Phichit.

Before he could even open the YouTube app, Phichit had already sent him a link to his own video and a series of winking faces. He clicked the link and held his breath.

Sadly, Phichit hadn’t been lying. Yuuri stared at himself, watched as he adjusted the camera on its tripod before positively… sashaying away from the camera. Truthfully, he was more trying to stay on his feet and not trip. Being drunk and in heels was NOT a good combo, even for him.

As for the heels… they worked well with the rest of his clothes in that everything about them was inappropriate. It was, of course, the pair Victor had given him – he didn’t make a habit of buying women’s shoes, after all. The shorts and the skin-tight top though, those were his.

So deep in shock he could actually appreciate the artistic value of the dance, he had to admit Phichit had a point – it was… good. The moves loosely followed Victor’s choreography to the song, adapted, of course, for off the ice.

He was a little impressed with his drunk self for even managing that much after a full bottle of sake. Sighing, he tried to scroll to the delete button when he noticed something that would have probably given him an anxiety attack if he hadn’t already been a bit numb from shock.

Yuuri felt like he should have noticed it sooner – the view count on the video.

A little over one and a half million people had seen it in the eight hours since he’d uploaded it. That was… well, deeply terrifying didn’t even cover it. He chucked his new phone away and went back to bed.

There was a good chance Victor had seen it too – he DID mention the man’s name in the title of the stupid video, after all. He emailed his classes, cancelling all of them for the next two days.

Was it pathetic for a thirty-something to sulk in bed because he’d humiliated himself? Absolutely. Was that going to stop him? Definitely not.

 

* * *

 

A day or so later, he finally decided to text Phichit back. The man had left him an impressive number of texts, asking if he was okay, if he needed to talk, if there was a reason he was doing something to do with Victor.

He realised with a start that he’d never told Phichit that he’d seen Victor skate, nor that the gifts had started again… or about the notebook. He evaded the questions best as he could and watched his own video several more times. He decided against taking it down – the damage was done and DAMN it was a good choreography.

On the third or so repeat, he noticed that he had put a caption as well – ‘Does this deserve gold or booze?’ it read. The comment section was pretty funny too – he mentally blocked out the hateful comments that told him not to diminish Victor’s work, and focused on the rest.

He received compliments, and lots – for the dance, his ass, the shoes. People thought it was brave to upload the video… and quite a few thought he meant to ask gold or bronze. Yuuri knew though, what the comment meant – apparently, Drunk Yuuri wasn’t happy Victor DIDN’T send his medal, and instead alcohol.

Well, with a little luck, Victor would either miss it or not understand it.

 

* * *

 

After so many years, he really should have known better than to underestimate Victor Nikiforov.

He was reminded of this when, a few days later, a new delivery arrived – the box was so heavy he could barely lift it. Pulling it rather than carrying it, he got it to the middle of the living room before opening it.

It became immediately obvious why it was so heavy – the box was filled with medals. Gold medals. Dozens of them, carelessly chucked inside a brown cardboard box and express-mailed to Yuuri’s front door.

He carefully picked them out, untangling the messy ribbons and set them out in a circle around himself, ordering them first by year, then by competition. It seemed Victor had sent him every single gold medal he’d ever won.

To his disappointment, there was no note, nothing. Just the medals. Yuuri did some express-mailing of his own – he had a display case overnighted to his flat, so, less than a day later, all of the medals sat, neatly arranged in a surprisingly pricy and spacious glass cabinet. The whole thing looked ridiculously misplaced in Yuuri’s slightly run-down apartment, but he had no way to send any of the medals back to their owner.

The only medal he didn’t add to the cabinet was the one he referred to as ‘his’ Olympic medal – that one kept its spot on his bedside table.

Needless to say, it was bothering Yuuri that he had no real way of contacting Victor, of talking to him. A stray viral video wasn’t exactly deliberate communication, and it was the literal opposite of the privacy he wanted, which left him with a peculiar problem – once again, he wanted to talk to Victor and once again he didn’t see a way to do so.

This time though, he allowed himself to consider something else – more aware now, of Victor’s feelings, he considered the possibility that the man, having moved on, simply did not want to reopen – or let Yuuri reopen old wounds.

Sure, the medals suggested otherwise, but for what it was worth, Victor Nikiforov was probably the most extra person on the planet, Yuuri knew that much. So, instead of coming up with some clever ploy to send Victor messages via YouTube video descriptions and drunken choreographies, he did… nothing.

Well, he rewatched all of Victor’s medalling ceremonies, staring at each of the medals as he did so, but that didn’t count.

 

* * *

 

Having literally only JUST underestimated Victor, Yuuri fell into the trap of doing it again FAR too easily.

A week passed, with no particularly special occurrences. Really, the most exciting thing that happened in Yuuri's life was that one of his students twisted her ankle and had to go home early. Nothing at all happened, and he didn’t really expect anything either.

When he received two tickets in the mail, along with a booking confirmation, he realised how stupid he had been for thinking nothing would happen, now that Victor was back in his life, however minimally so.

The first of the tickets was one for a skating event – more specifically, the Grand Prix final. The one in Barcelona. Naturally, Yuuri didn’t have the money to just take off on an international flight like that… but then he didn’t need to. A round-trip ticket, first class, from Detroit to Barcelona was, after all, ticket number two.

The booking confirmation was for a hotel – three days, the duration of the Grand Prix.

There was a little over a week to go until the actual event, and he could barely wait, much as he had no idea what would happen – would he see Victor? Would they talk, face to face? If not, what was the purpose of Yuuri seeing him skate?

Would the skating be the message? Yuuri had been watching for years, he was sure he could understand… assuming there was a message at all.

Knowing that all he could do was wait, Yuuri increased his dance training hours significantly. Dancing took his mind of things. More specifically, Victor’s things. Okay, so every now and again he danced that routine he’d made while drunk – surprisingly difficult to accomplish while sober, actually – but other than that, dancing distracted him from Victor.

It wasn’t enough, but after five years, he really hadn’t expected it to be.

So, a mere few days later he packed his things into a small suitcase – the only one he owned – and set out for the airport. He was a little ashamed of some of the things he had packed – contained in his suitcase was Victor’s old shirt, the second notebook he had sent Yuuri… and the Olympic medal Yuuri couldn’t go a day without touching.

In short, he checked into his flight a little bit hopeful, a little bit ashamed and brimming with excitement. Even though it was nearly a ten-hour flight, Yuuri felt like the time passed quickly, his heart seemingly beating faster the closer he came to Barcelona. It had been easy, really, to arrange his classes to give him the four days off he needed to go, and he’d done it in a heartbeat.

Standing in front of the huge hotel right next to the Grand Prix skating rink, he felt terrified for the very first time since he’d yanked his suitcase off the top shelf of his wardrobe. He’d flown to Europe on the whim of a man he hadn’t spoken to for five years. Had accepted an invitation without even knowing for what.

Clenching his reservation confirmation more tightly, he entered the hotel and approached reception. It didn’t matter – Victor had invited him, and so Yuuri came. Greeting the receptionist in English, he handed over his reservation. He had no idea what to expect from the hotel either – he knew it was a very nice one, but the reservation hadn’t so much as mentioned what kind of room he’d be staying in.

“Here’s the key to your penthouse suite, Mr. Katsuki. Please simply take the elevator all the way to the highest floor and scan the card on the reader. Enjoy your stay!” “Thanks…” He mumbled, unsure if he ought to be surprised – after a first class plane ticket, was it REALLY surprising to end up in a penthouse suite again?

Heart beating madly, he made his way there, a small, pathetic part of him hoping to find Victor there, once again on a bed.

He did not – the room was pristine, nothing to suggest anyone else had been there, unless you counted the bouquet of red roses on the nightstand – he ignored them at first, until a flash of white alerted him to the fact that there was a card stuck between the blossoms.

Gingerly fishing it out, his heart clenched at the familiar handwriting – he had spent hours upon hours staring at it since he’d received the second notebook. ‘Wish me luck!’ It read – as if there was another reason he might have come to Barcelona?

Resolutely he stood, grabbed his room-key and made his way back downstairs, to reception. “Hey, sorry, is it possible to have flowers sent to another guest’s room?” The receptionist smiled at him – she was a little younger than Yuuri and very pretty.

“Of course Mr. Katsuki, do you know the guest’s room number?” He didn’t – didn’t actually know Victor was in the same hotel as him but he HAD seen a few athletes in the lobby, so it seemed a sensible assumption that all of them were staying there, close to the rink as the hotel was.

“Ah, well, no? Could you maybe look him up by name? He’s, uh, the one who paid for my room.” He felt a little ashamed to admit it, but the girl only smiled politely. “Okay, could you confirm the name for me? Just to make sure everything is in order here.”

He gulped. “Victor Nikiforov.” He said, his voice low. The girl’s smile spread into something nearly dazzling. “That’s right! Are you and him close? I’m a huge fan of his skating.” Yuuri smiled wryly. “Ah, we used to be. So, the flowers?” The girl nodded eagerly.

“Not a problem. What card shall we charge them to and what kind of flowers? When would you like them delivered?” Gingerly, he handed over his own credit card. “I’d like… uhm, a dozen white roses? Delivered tomorrow morning? Possibly with a note?” She took his card and typed what he said into her computer.

“Of course, Mr. Katsuki. What would you like the note to say?” Blushing slightly – a habit he hadn’t grown out of even in his thirties – he stammered a little. “Can it… can it just say: ‘Good luck, I’ll be watching you’?” “Certainly, Mr. Katsuki. The flowers will be delivered tomorrow at seven? That’s when most of the athletes ordered a wake-up call.”

Yuuri’s lips twitched up into a smirk. “Could you make it five? Victor never sleeps late.” The question was clear in the receptionist’s eyes, but she simply nodded and amended the delivery instructions before handing back his card.

He excused himself before he could change his mind and hurried back to his room. The changed time was a nod to all the times Victor had gotten up before him, had left the hotel room early. With a bit of luck, the flowers would wake him… and maybe make him smile?

 

* * *

 

When, the next morning, Victor Nikiforov appeared at public practice for his short program with a white rose tucked behind his ear, the commentators speculated that it may have been a gift from a fan, one Victor was wearing to be nice.

Yuuri, blushing and sinking very, very low in his seat, he thought to himself that they certainly weren’t wrong. He watched with renewed attention when the actual performances began – not just Victor this time.

He also paid attention to Christophe Giacometti – though he couldn’t be sure, he suspected that he was the ‘Chris’ that had helped Victor take those photos all those years ago. The man was younger than Victor but by all rights acted a lot older – his performance was mature in, well, all the wrong ways as far as Yuuri was concerned.

The general consensus among the audience seemed to be that Chris was the sexiest man on the ice – Yuuri knew better, of course. Intimately. He sighed, those tainted memories once again at the front of his mind.

Another skater he watched was Yuri Plisetsky. Three years younger than Victor, his namesake was also Russian and skated at the same rink as Victor. Being somewhat familiar with Russian nicknames after looking up the meaning of Vitya after their split, he suspected that he was the ‘Yura’ that apparently used to masturbate at the rink a lot.

It was difficult not to think of that when the young man skated, for all that he was incredibly talented and graceful. His heart nearly beat out of his chest when it was finally Victor’s turn. The rose was gone from his ear – no surprise there, it would only hinder his skating, and an oddly serious expression was plastered to his face as he took to the ice.

 

* * *

 

It was beautiful to see him skate.

For all that it was the same performance he’d seen in America, the one in Barcelona felt… different. He wasn’t sure if it was because Victor knew he was watching, or if he was projecting his feelings onto him and Victor had simply gotten serious because it was the Grand Prix Final, but…

He was foolish enough to hope that it was at least a little because of Yuuri.

Naturally, Victor took the top spot on the podium, nearly fourteen points above Yuri and Chris, who were less than a point apart.

Yuuri was proud.

He arranged for more flowers to be sent to Victor the next morning – another dozen roses, in pink this time, to match the outfit he knew Victor would be wearing for his free skate the next day.

The receptionist gave him a knowing smile as she arranged for the delivery – he rejected her offer for a card that day, unsure what he might say to him, hoping his flowers would be a message in and of themselves.

Yuuri fell asleep clutching his Olympic medal that night, full of anticipation for the next morning’s free programs.

 

* * *

 

Tension was running high at the rink, that much was obvious even before public practice began.  The skaters were tense, their coaches either animatedly talking or reassuring them. Victor stood alone, next to the rink, his eyes searching the stands.

Yuuri wasn’t sure whether to hide or to stand up and wave – in the end, he simply stayed put and watched Victor sigh before stepping onto the ice – no flower behind his ear for practice.

To say Yuuri was disappointed would be an understatement.

The surprise came when Victor was due to skate his next program. He was due last, of course, having achieved the highest points in the short skate. Yuuri had been waiting, eagerly, to see the program again, hoped that it too would be skated the way the short had been – with emotion.

Victor came out in his usual pink outfit – the one that matched the phone case Yuuri was tightly gripping in his pocket, all pink and gold, resplendent on the beautiful man. It wasn’t the outfit though, that made Yuuri’s breath hitch – it was the fact that Victor wore a crown of pink flowers on his head, one that hadn’t been there for practice. Even from halfway across the arena he could see that it was pinned in place very thoroughly – else it would fall off while he skated.

He could also see Yakov’s glare – a lot sharper than usual and trained on his best skater. If Victor noticed, he didn’t care as he took position on the ice. Yuuri took a deep breath, desperate to see what sort of performance Victor would be giving.

He was not disappointed.

 

* * *

 

Victor had won the gold medal – nobody was surprised, really. People were a little surprised that he beat his own – and thus, the world – record for the free program, but all in all, that was what Victor did – skate and break records.

It was almost silly that it was the flower crown they spoke about the most, wondering what it meant. Victor had stopped wearing hair accessories when he cut his long hair off, Yuuri knew that well enough.

The pink flowers stayed on his head even for the medal ceremony a little later, after all the skaters had properly thanked their fans. Yuuri’s heart clenched at the sight of Victor – stunning, perhaps more so than ever, smiling at the top of the podium.

He noticed that the man next to him – Chris, the silver-medallist – was also watching Victor, out of the corner of his eye. Yuuri noticed – he had years of experience in Victor-watching, after all.

Part of him wondered if the two of them were involved – he could hardly fault Victor for it if that was the case. Chris WAS handsome. He shut the thoughts down quickly and hurried back to the hotel – he had one last flower delivery to arrange, after all.

The only program left was the exhibition the next morning, followed by a banquet for the skaters that same day – not open to the public, of course. He approached the same receptionist as before.

“Hi, could I arrange for more flowers to be delivered?” The girl gave him a broad smile. “Nope, sorry! Not today.” He spluttered a little. “I, uh… why?” Her smile turned into something more of a conspiratory smirk. “You look tired. Why don’t you lay down in your room a bit and come back later? Maybe then we can arrange something.”

More than a little confused and extremely disappointed, he followed the cryptic advice and headed to the penthouse, wondering dimly if he really looked so terrible that the receptionist noted. He’d slept well and really wasn’t feeling tired at all!

The mystery was solved the moment he opened the door and stepped into his suite. The heavy scent of flowers practically accosted him, and it was obvious why – practically every available inch of the suite was covered in roses, of every colour imaginable.

Natural and dyed, a few even spray-painted with silver and gold, it seemed.

He thought back to the time Victor had sent him a thousand roses as an apology and whimpered – there had to be at least twice as many in the room now. What was he supposed to DO with them?

Frantically looking around for a card, a message, something, anything, he nearly sobbed with relief when on his freshly made bed, he found another, single flower – a yellow tulip, a letter right next to it

Oh god, there was a letter. Finally.

The tulip looked oddly out of place in the gigantic storm of flowers that had taken over the suite, barely leaving him enough room to walk from the door to the bed and to the bathroom. Even the path to the balcony was obstructed, not that he wanted to step into the cold December air anyway.

He picked up the note, a familiar tremble in his fingers.

‘Yuuri,

Thank you for the flowers, you have no idea what they meant to me. I’m sorry I had to break my silence and send you a letter anyway, I simply couldn’t take it anymore. In case you are upset, I decided to send you apology flowers straight away.

I hope you watched my performances – I tried looking for you in the stands but there were simply too many people there. Did you enjoy the event? When I heard that you had indeed accepted the stay in the penthouse, I was so relieved! I was worried you might not come after all, since you left straight away after Skate America.

Is it presumptuous to think you may want to see me? In person? We could… talk. If that’s what you’d like. I owe you a lot of apologies and explanations. Did you read my diary?

Please don’t feel pressured to meet me, though, if you don’t want to. It’s entirely up to you.

If you do want to… send me flowers one more time? I loved getting them, both times.

Thank you,

V’

Yuuri sank to the floor, trembling a little. His fingers nearly lost their grasp on the paper, actually. Victor liked the flowers. Victor wanted to meet him – after all this time, he properly wanted to meet with Yuuri.

It shouldn’t be that big of a shock – the other man no longer had any reason to hide, after all. Yuuri knew his age, knew what he looked like. Did Victor know what Yuuri looked like? He’d aged relatively well, he thought, being Japanese and all that, but would… Victor find him attractive?

Did it even matter?

He picked up the yellow tulip and twirled it in his fingers. He knew the language of flowers well. An apology… and friendship. Did he want to be Victor’s friend? COULD he be Victor’s friend?

Yuuri wasn’t stupid, he knew he was still in love with the other man, and that he almost definitely didn’t feel the same. Was it worth it, breaking his own heart to be a little closer to him?

Standing up with a sigh, Yuuri scolded himself. It was Victor – of course it was worth it. He was worth anything.

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, his fingers scratched by thorns, Yuuri had picked out every single gold-sprayed rose from the many, many bouquets in the room. He set one aside for himself and gathered the rest together as best as he could, tying them into a new bouquet before practically jumping into the elevator and hurrying to reception.

The same receptionist as before sat there, a beaming smile on her face.

“Hi! Can I… could you send these to Victor, please? These specifically?” She accepted the bouquet and set it down with a smile. “But of course. If I may say so…” She glanced around before leaning closer to Yuuri.

“I saw the arrangement this morning. We haven’t had a flower delivery that huge in the time I’ve worked here! I’m glad you accepted the invitation.” Blushing because apparently this woman KNEW what the flowers meant – had Victor really told her – he cleared his throat.

“I, well… it’s just… Did he say something to you?” She chuckled softly. “Well, yes. He came down this morning when he arranged it all. He was a bit flustered, you know. Told me not to accept flower orders from you until you saw your room.”

Flustered, huh? That didn’t fit with the Vitya he’d slept with… but it was surprisingly fitting for the Victor whose diary he had received. He smiled. “Yes, well, about that… any chance I could donate all of those flowers to some good cause? Retirement homes or something?”

The receptionist looked startled for a few moments, then picked up her phone and dialled a number. She exchanged a few sentences in rapid Spanish with someone before hanging up. “If it’s alright with you, someone will be by to collect the flowers later tonight? It’s very kind of you to want to donate them, Mr. Katsuki.”

He smiled weakly, relieved that the flowers would be used for something positive. “And those…?” He pointed at his make-shift bouquet. “Ah, I’ll have those fixed up into a proper bouquet and sent to Mr. Nikiforov as quickly as possible.”

Thanking her quickly, he excused himself and hurried back up to his room. He couldn’t help but wonder when Victor would meet him – tonight? After the exhibition? He knew when Yuuri’s flight was, of course…

Quickly changing into the one suit he packed – a nice one, a gift from Victor, of course – he waited, just in case. Should the other man drop by, he wanted to look his best.

In the end, it wasn’t Victor that knocked on his door that evening, but a few hotel employees. Cursing his heart for being too hopeful, he changed into sweatpants and insisted on helping them carry out the countless flowers – a truck was ready to pick them up and deliver them to their new destinations.

By the time Yuuri got back to his room he was so exhausted that he fell straight into bed – come morning he very nearly didn’t make it in time to watch the exhibition skates.

 

* * *

 

Victor wasn’t wearing an of the flowers Yuuri had sent him, that was the first thing Yuuri noticed when the man stepped out onto the ice to skate his exhibition. He idly wondered if he’d chosen the wrong colour, but then gold was the only appropriate colour, wasn’t it?

He watched him skate anyway, of course, along with Chris and his namesake, the silver and bronze medallists. They were all spectacular, of course, but once again, Victor was a world apart. He’d wonder if it was just his infatuation with the man that made him think so, but there were too many fans around him gushing about the same – it felt oddly validating, in a way.

Still, Victor hadn’t come to see him after all, he realised as he went back to his hotel room and stepped into the shower, hoping to wash away the unpleasant feeling in the back of his head.

He really had no reason to be surprised – the fact that Victor even acknowledged his presence in the first place was probably more than he deserved after how he treated the other man. If his shower was a little longer than necessary and the hot water washed a few tears from his cheeks… well, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Yuuri stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, when he heard someone knocking on the door. Hardly thinking, he went to open, expecting a hotel employee of some sort.

He did NOT expect Victor Nikiforov, dressed in a clearly tailored suit, his mouth hanging open and a pink blush high on his cheeks.

They stared at each other, completely dumb-founded. Mere minutes ago, Yuuri had been crying that Victor hadn’t come to see him… needless to say, he wasn’t prepared, and his mind simply went blank.

He had no idea how long they stood there, staring, before he thought to step back and invite Victor in. The man stepped into the room with barely any hesitation, though his eyes fixed themselves to the tips of his shoes immediately.

Yuuri closed the door behind him, desperately trying to think of something to say… what COULD he say?

“Hello, Victor. It’s nice to see you again.” He eventually offered, when his mind provided nothing helpful – the image of throwing the now-taller man on his bed was nice enough, but hardly appropriate given the situation.

The way Victor stared at him in disbelief, he almost thought he’d suggested the bed-thing instead, but no, Yuuri had been careful.

“Hello… Yuuri.” The other man eventually replied, his beautiful face finally clearing of that strange expression. A small smile suited him better, Yuuri decided. Unfortunately, silence fell again immediately. It was Victor who broke it next.

“I, uh, sorry I interrupted your shower?” Yuuri glanced down, only just remembering that he was only wrapped in a towel. Oh. “It’s fine, I was done. Congratulations on your gold.” The other man’s smile widened a little, and graceful fingers slipped inside his suit-jacket, drawing out the medal in question.

“They make you wear them at the banquet so people can take photos.” He explained. “Oh, I see.” He studied the gold – identical to four more he had at home. “That’s why I’m here, actually. The banquet?”

Yuuri blinked in confusion. “What about it?” Victor blushed again, the pink colour extending down to his neck, Yuuri’s eyes helpless to do anything but follow as it spread and disappeared under his collar.

“Do you want to go? With me? You sent the flowers, so I thought you might… want to…” Yuuri let himself sink onto the couch, glad that it was positioned near him or his legs might have given out anyway. Victor wanted to take him to the banquet?

“Am I allowed to go?” He asked and Victor snorted. “Well, you might have to put a suit on first, but after that, of course you are. If you want. You can say no.”

As if. When HAD Yuuri ever told Victor no? He couldn’t remember.

“I’d love to go. Let me get ready?” Victor nodded eagerly, clearly relieved that Yuuri had accepted. He stumbled to his suitcase, pulled out the already folded up suit and hastily pulled it on, his mind caught in an endless loop of ‘Victor’.

He felt a little better when he fixed his tie around his neck – the tie was his own, he had forgotten to pack one of Victor’s with the suit. Gelling his hair back and adjusting his glasses, he hurried back to where the other man was waiting.

Yuuri wasn’t sure whether he imagined the low whine he heard when Victor spotted him – surely, it had just been his imagination? – then the man practically leapt off the couch and stalked over to him.

“Absolutely not.” With those words, he reached for Yuuri’s tie and practically yanked it off his neck. “This thing needs to be burned!” Victor hissed at the apparently so offensive baby-blue tie. “Hey! I like the colour!” Yuuri complained. ‘It’s the colour of your eyes.’ He didn’t add because it wasn’t his place to do so anymore.

“Well, then I’ll buy you a nicer one in blue but THIS one is only leaving this room one way – in a trashcan! Yuuuuuri, I can’t believe you’d bring a cheap tie like this!” “You didn’t mind the cheap ones when I tied your wrists to the headboard with them.”

Oh no.

Victor froze, just as Yuuri did, the tie slipping from his fingers and awkwardly crumpling to the ground. Before Yuuri could even apologise, Victor yanked off his own tie, a light purple, and tossed it towards him. “Here, take this one. I’ll get myself another. I’ll, uh, I’ll pick you up for the banquet in an hour. If you still want to go.”

He should decline – there was every chance he’d say something even more stupid later. “I do.” His mouth said instead.

Victor left the room without looking at him, blue tie forgotten on the ground. It sat there, a little obscene-looking, all of a sudden. The one in his fingers was nicer, of course, and he tied it around his neck, motions automatic and practiced.

What in the WORLD was he supposed to do for an hour?

 

* * *

 

Fret, that was what he did until Victor came back. After spending a ridiculous amount of time on making sure every possible aspect of his appearance was perfect – including Victor’s gifted watch, the diamond cufflinks and Victor’s tie – the normally not at all vain Yuuri sat on the couch, worrying himself senseless.

His hair was gelled back, a few strands hanging loose. He’d cleaned his glasses twice, just in case. He’d applied lip balm in the hopes of it making his mouth feel less dry – no success. Yuuri didn’t own any make-up, but he’d felt the strange urge to apply some anyway as he kept wondering if he looked good enough to accompany Victor.

Fingers adjusting the silk tie around his neck for probably the fifth time in ten minutes, he nearly choked himself with it when a knock sounded on his door. He was standing next to it in a heartbeat, praying his fingers would stop trembling as he opened the door.

The shock of seeing Victor for the second time was just as severe as seeing him for the first one. He was wearing the same suit, a different tie in pale pink around his neck. He gulped as he invited the man in.

“Are you ready to go to the banquet?” Victor asked in the heavy silence, his voice a little louder than it needed to be. “Yes… where is your medal?” He asked, surprised that Victor wasn’t wearing it. Once again, he reached into his pocket and pulled it out again, dangling it from his finger.

“Good call, I should probably put it on. Last time I got scolded by Yakov for forgetting.” Yuuri had snatched it from his fingers before he’d finished speaking, straightening the ribbon and moving to put it on Victor in a motion that felt practiced for all that he’d never done it before.

Something nameless flashed through Victor’s eyes and with a choked-off laugh, the taller man leaned down to let Yuuri place the band around his neck. He did so with care, smoothing it over his suit and down his chest until the shining gold hung between Victor’s suit buttons.

“You’ve grown taller.” He said, scolding himself immediately. Victor winced a little. “Ah, I have, haven’t I? We used to be the same height.” Yuuri remembered, oh god did he remember, no matter how much he didn’t want to.

“Shall we go?” The other man nodded and Yuuri followed him into the elevator, trying the whole time to act like a normal, sane human being – in other words, he was fighting the urge to throw Victor against the wall and kiss him senseless.

For the hundredth time he reminded himself that it wasn’t like that.

Then Victor’s hand settled on his lower back as he ushered him towards the banquet hall and Yuuri’s breath hitched. As far as first touches after five years went, it was barely there, a light pressure on his back, through layers of fabric… the contact felt electric.

He let himself be led, walking by Victor’s side, over to a table with champagne. He picked up a glass eagerly, handing one to Victor. The other man accepted it with a nod and Yuuri allowed himself to relax enough to look around the room.

  
“Are these banquets always like this?” He asked, studying the frankly boring room. “Mh, things usually get more interesting later on. When people are a bit drunk.” Victor’s accent drawled, voice amused. He’d missed the sound, he realised.

“Hm, I wonder what that’ll be like then.” “Well, Chris strips, usually.” “Giacometti?” “That’s right. He won silver. I can introduce you.” Yuuri shook his head and tipped back his glass of champagne, swapping it for a new one immediately.

He half-turned towards Victor. “Is he the one who helped you take those photos back then?” This time he was sure he didn’t imagine the whine from Victor, nor the pained look in his eyes. Oh.

“Sorry.” He mumbled, genuinely regretting that he’d brought up something unpleasant. “It’s… fine. And yes, yes it was him. He… knows. He’d never tell though, so don’t worry.” Yuuri nodded, quickly, distracted by the fact that the very man they were discussing was walking over, silver medal on his chest.

“Victor, Cherie! Glad to see you made it after all.” The man’s eyes slid to Yuuri, widening a fraction before narrowing in suspicion. “And this would be…” He held out his hand. “Yuuri Katsuki. Pleasure to meet you. Congratulations on your medal.” Chris accepted his hand, giving him a slightly odd look. “Thank you. I was only a few points behind Victor this time.”

“Yes, well, you still sometimes stumble out of your quad Lutz, I keep telling you to watch your elbows when you take off.” “Says the man who REFUSES to jump the Lutz in competition because it’s ‘not his style’.”

Yuuri raised an eyebrow – it was the only quad Victor had never used in competition. “So… you have ALL the quads?” He asked, his voice a little startled. Both skaters glanced at him in mild surprise. “You… know about skating?” Victor tentatively asked.

Meeting Victor’s eyes was difficult, the icy blue far too familiar even now. “Of course I do.” Chris’ quiet whistle broke their eye contact, Yuuri hastily turning back towards the man. “I didn’t expect that. So then, what did you think of Victor’s performance today?”

“Chris!” Victor hissed but the Swiss man simply waved him off. Yuuri considered his answer. “The exhibition skate is always different but I liked it. It was less technical, more artistic.” “He calls three quads ‘less technical’!” The man complained.

“You know, I get it’s Victor and all, but most of us don’t even HAVE three quads.” Yuuri grinned. “That didn’t stop you from beating your personal best yesterday, did it?” Chris gave him a broad smile. “That’s right! By two points! Did you like my performance?” He flushed a little when the Swiss man leaned closer.

“Well, it was very… mature.” He half-mumbled. Chris just laughed. “Well, that’s just my style. Victor’s too, to be fa-” He broke off with a grunt when the man in question elbowed his friend in the side, moments before a few skating officials approached them.

Yuuri used the chance to drink his champagne and grab a fresh glass, both medallists busy. He looked around the room again – barely any time had passed, but the mood had already improved, had relaxed a little.

A hand tapped his shoulder, startling him into nearly dropping his glass. He came face to face with a woman he didn’t know – a pretty, olive-skinned girl with sleek black hair. She was gorgeous, if half his age at best.

“Hi?” He greeted her, a little unsure why she had approached him. “Hi! You’re Yuuri Katsuki, right? I recognised you from that video… you choreographed a dance for Victor’s music, right?” Nodding dumbly, he blushed a little. “I, well, yes. I was, uh, drunk?”

The girl laughed. “I’m Sara Crispino. Women’s bronze. Dance with me?” He drained his glass and accepted her offer – dancing was familiar, at the very least. Spinning the younger woman on the nearby dancefloor, he felt a little more centred than before.

“Are you and Victor friends?” Sara asked after a few moments. She was a good dancer. “I suppose you could say so? I’ve known him for a few years.” She nodded. “He’s amazing, isn’t he? My brother Mickey competed against him in Japan. He didn’t qualify, unfortunately."

“Oh, sorry to hear that.” He offered, unsure what to say. Sara just laughed. “It’s fine. With Victor AND Chris there, most of the guys didn’t expect anything else, really. You’re really a very good dancer, Yuuri.”

He smiled softly. “Well, I teach it, so I better be! Mostly I teach ballet, but I’m good at ballroom too.” Spinning her, just to prove a point, he was rather pleased when she came out of it laughing happily. “Wow! Do you skate too?” He shook his head.

“Not really. I haven’t since I was a kid. There is a rink in my hometown, but I haven’t been in a long time.” “That’s a shame, I’m sure you’d have been good. I can just-” “SARA!” A loud yell interrupted, making him instinctively draw back mid-step, to turn towards the voice in question.

Sara groaned. “That would be my brother. Sorry Yuuri, he’s… territorial.” Before he could really comprehend what was happening, a man of about Sara’s age had already snatched her arm and practically dragged her away, the pair of them arguing in Italian as they went.

“That’s what they’re like, the Crispino siblings.” A hand settled around his shoulders, a heavy weight leaning on him – Chris. The Swiss man was practically purring into his ear. “They’re… always like that?” He fought the urge to pull away.

“Afraid so. Since you’re free, would you like to dance with me? I mean, we both know you don’t mind dancing with men, right?” Stiffening, he turned, brushing Chris’ arm off. “If that was supposed to be an innuendo, it was terrible.” He held his hand out to Chris anyway, the other man accepting it with an air of confusion around him.

He pulled him in, a little rougher than necessary, and took the lead, not even bothering to ask. The taller man seemed amused more than anything. “Well, well, you’re not a pushover after all, then?” “Who said I was?” Yuuri asked, expertly weaving the taller man around. It was a challenge, leading like that, but he had done it before, had learned when he had been so young EVERYONE had been taller than him.

“Ah, just an assumption I made, don’t mind me. You’re an excellent dancer though. I thought Victor may have been exaggerating, but I suppose not.” Yuuri ignored the statement – what was he supposed to respond after all?

“No more officials to talk to?” He asked instead. Chris laughed. “Oh plenty. Why do you think I’m hiding here? Can’t talk to anyone except you like this.” Yuuri grinned, a bit boldened by the alcohol in his system. “True. Want to put on a bit of a show?”

Chris winked at him. “Oh Cherie, that is SO my thing. What did you have in mind?” Yuuri smirked, his grip on Chris tightening. He was a good dancer… but if he wanted, he could be bloody brilliant.

He spun the younger man, led him into more complicated step sequences, transitioning from something slow into a more energetic dance, still in rhythm with the music though. He dipped Chris, bending him backwards, pulling him up, spinning him and twisting this way and that, well-aware that a little crowd had gathered around them.

When the song ended, Chris was breathing hard and even Yuuri was panting a little – he hadn’t expected to go quite so far. Bowing lightly, he released Chris. The man followed him to the refreshment table and picked up a glass at the same time he did.

Much like Yuuri had, he drowned his in one go and took another. Yuuri drank that one a little more slowly. “Wow!” Chris eventually groaned, leaning against a wall, face flushed from exertion.

“I have to apologise to Victor, I think. Clearly, I had NO idea.” “What do you mean?” Yuuri asked, confused. Chris waved him off. “Don’t mind me. It’s… it’s fine. Thanks for the dance. I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun off the ice… at least while dressed.” He squeaked when Chris winked at him, turning his face away as quickly as he could… only to come face to face with a teenager.

An angry teenager. Yuri Plisetsky – he’d seen him often enough to recognise him. “Uh, hello?” He greeted, unsure why the teen was glaring. He found a finger poking his chest. “You! You aren’t even supposed to be here, why are you making a scene? Old men like you should hurry up and die, not stink up a banquet.”

Yuuri snorted – he couldn’t help it. “Is that so? What do you youngsters do then? Wank in bathroom stalls?” The teenager drew back as if burned. “I-You-WHAT?” He stammered, his face red.

He took pity on the kid and grabbed him by the wrist. “Come on, let’s dance!” “I’ll destroy you!” The Russian Yuri snarled as Yuuri drew him along with him, all to the melodious laughter of Chris.

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Yuuri had absolutely no idea where his suit jacket was, and his tie was only barely still around his neck, but he was having the time of his life. A few more glasses of champagne had passed his lips and he was relatively certain he had danced with every skater in the room, male or female.

Victor hadn’t lied – the banquet had livened up considerably as time went on. Victor – probably the only one he HADN’T danced with. Every time his eyes searched out the silver-haired man, whether it was on purpose or on instinct, he was busy – talking to sponsors, talking to officials, seemingly arguing with Chris in a corner…

Still, Yuuri was determined to dance with him at least once, and drunk enough to ignore what a colossally stupid idea that would be for his poor heart. Eventually, finally, he found Victor alone, medal around his neck and drinking a glass of champagne in a corner.

He half-stumbled over, ignoring the surprise in his face as he approached. Yuuri’s fingers tangled into the ribbon of his medal and he yanked him down, until their faces were at the same height. “Dance with me Victor!” He demanded more than he asked.

Victor’s glass slipped from his fingers, hit the ground.

A heartbeat later, they were both on the dancefloor, Yuuri’s hand on Victor’s hip, leading the man in a paso doble. He wasn’t sure when the music had changed to something Latin, really, but with the familiar-yet-not feel of Victor in his arms, he wouldn’t have cared if the building around them had collapsed.

They moved together as if they had done it all their lives, broad smiles on both of their faces. He’d NEVER seen Victor smile like that, so open, so bright, so… beautiful. He wondered briefly, if the night they had first met, in that club, so long ago, had been like this, if Victor had smiled like that.

He hoped not – forgetting that would be a crime.

Dipping Victor low, he revelled in the trust the man placed in him – he let himself lean back, supported only by Yuuri’s hand on his neck, his other hand placed on Victor’s thigh – not as high as he wanted, not as low as would have been proper.

Oh.

Yuuri realised with startling clarity, through the haze of the alcohol that he needed to stop, needed to draw back – he was trying to be Victor’s friend, no molest him in public. Going by the passionate look in the other man’s eyes, he wasn’t opposed to it… not that that made it any easier for Yuuri.

He pulled him back up, spun him, leading him through a step sequence rather than another position like that one. He wouldn’t do that again, he decided, it was just too dangerous for his heart.

The music changed to a tango and he did it again.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri didn’t know how long he danced with Victor but by the time he stopped, his feet were aching, his thighs and shoulders burning from exertion. He stumbled over to a familiar form – Chris. The man was lounging across two chairs off to the side of the room and happily moved his legs to allow Yuuri to sit when he approached.

“Tired?” He asked, clearly amused when Yuuri collapsed into the chair with a groan. “So, so tired.” “Well, that was quite the mating dance you laid down there.” The Swiss man teased. “Mating… what? I was just dancing.”

Chris laughed. “No, you were ‘just dancing’ with Sara. You were mostly ‘just dancing’ with me too, but that with Victor? That was more.” He flinched, heart clenched in pain at the man’s implied accusation.

“It’s not like that.” He weakly defended. “It was just… dancing.” Chris snorted. “Ah yes, and five years ago what I took were ‘just pictures’.” Yuuri gaped at the other man. “What? Of course I know. Victor NEVER shut up about you. When he went back to Russia and left Detroit because he was done with his exchange year, I was almost RELIEVED. You don’t know what it’s like being called at three in the morning because he forgot the time difference again, just to hear about how great a lay you are.”

Yuuri whimpered, blushing scarlet.

Chris shrugged. “Embarrassed? Victor NEVER shut up about you. I was the only one who knew… your age. Don’t worry, neither of us ever told.” The relief he felt was short-lived when Chris leaned forwards and studied his form a bit.

“You know, you look better in heels than a man your age has any right to do.” He groaned quietly. “You saw the video?” “Cherie, I’m the one who told Victor about it. Way to go viral, ey. The caption… was it really for him? He insisted it was.”

Glancing around, Yuuri licked his lips. He’d never spoken to anyone other than Phichit about the whole thing, and since Chris already knew… “Come with me, I’ll show you something.” Chris nodded and followed him out of the hall and to the elevator. They rode to Yuuri’s penthouse in silence.

Yuuri quickly fetched the Olympic medal that sat on his night-stand.

He tossed it to Chris and sat on the couch.

“He sent me that when he won it at the Olympics. The first one. Then, when he won the NHK trophy… well, he sent me a bottle of sake. I drank it, blacked out, made that routine, uploaded it and you know the rest. Drunk me apparently was disappointed that I ‘only’ got booze that time.”

Chris studied the medal for a few seconds before laughing. “You two are quite the pair.”

The other man sighed, sitting next to Yuuri, drawing his legs up and placing them on Yuuri’s lap. He didn’t protest – the skater seemed quite comfortable and Yuuri didn’t mind. “You should probably talk to Victor about all of this. Much as I enjoy meddling, what’s between you is…well, it’s always just been you two.”

Yuuri laughed weakly – truer words had never been spoken.

“Yuuri… what is it that you’re looking for? You need to work out if you both want the same thing before one of you gets hurt again. I have to admit… you’re not what I expected.” He pressed his lips into a thin line. “What did you expect?”

“Someone cold, someone just playing with his heart. Not someone… well, someone who still looks at him like he hangs the moon and stars in the sky each night.” Yuuri let his eyes fall closed in shame. “Was I… that obvious?”

Chris nudged him with his toes. “Well, I’ve been listening to stories about you for five years, so I’m guessing I have a better idea but… yeah, a little bit.”

The next moment, without warning, the door to the suite banged open, possibly cracking the wall behind it, and Victor Nikiforov stormed into the room with all the angry grace of a really, really pissed off Greek god.

He’d never seen the fire of anger in those ice blue eyes before and it made him shiver – especially since he didn’t know who the anger was directed at. If it was him… what had he done to deserve it?

He gulped, barely noticing when Chris’ legs slid from his lap to the ground.

Victor looked back and forth between them.

“You know… I can live with the fact that you don’t want me. I was prepared to accept it. But going after my best friend? That’s low, Yuuri. And YOU Chris? You, of all people… I can’t believe you would do that.”

The Swiss man stood, quite abruptly.

“Right, I’m out of here. You two need to talk, clearly, and I suggest this time NEITHER of you turn tail and run.” With that, the blonde walked off, calmly pulling the door closed behind himself.

Yuuri’s eyes followed him until the door clicked shut and he was alone… alone with Victor. He’d dreamed of that moment for years, but in his dreams, Victor had never been angry.

He leaned back a little on the couch, oddly vulnerable under the fiery gaze.

When Victor sat himself down on Yuuri’s lap without ceremony and took his mouth in a searing kiss that was more teeth than tongue before drawing back and glowering, he REALLY wasn’t prepared for it.

Out of habit – muscle-memory his body refused to shed even after years – his fingers settled low on Victor’s hips, holding him in place.

“V-Victor?” He asked, his voice a mere whisper. “No.” The other man snarled. “You NEVER called me Victor. You don’t GET to dance with me like that and then call me Victor like it was nothing.”

He gulped, tried again. “Vitya?” It was the right thing to say, if the way Victor relaxed a fraction above him was anything to go by. “What… I don’t understand what’s going on.” Victor laughed mirthlessly.

“Yes, I’m getting that impression too. You’re quite oblivious, aren’t you? Not an attractive quality, Yuuuuri.” He felt his fingers tighten a little – where did Victor get off storming in, kissing him and then calling him unattractive?

“Why did you storm in here like this? Why did you even have a key?” Victor snorted. “I paid for the room. I asked for a key from reception. Why do you think it took me so LONG to get up here?”

“And, uh, why did you? Come here, I mean.” Victor’s gaze turned a fraction colder. “Did you expect me to just let you sleep with Chris? I’m not a pushover, Yuuri.” Despite his words, Yuuri actually had no trouble at all, lifting him from his lap and pushing him off to give himself the space to straighten up a bit.

“SLEEP with Chris? I’m not interested in him!” He could hardly believe his ears, actually.

“Oh, is that so? Then why did you dance with him like that and then invite him to your room?” Yuuri snorted. “So we could talk about YOU, actually.” “I saw him with his feet in your lap.” “Yes you did, so? It’s just… we were just sitting here. Fully dressed. I was NOT going to sleep with Chris.” He repeated, hoping the other man would believe it this time.

The anger faded a little from his eyes… it was an improvement. “Fine then what WERE you doing? You’ve been teasing me all evening. I don’t appreciate you making fun of my feelings, Yuuri. You never used to-” He broke off, just for a moment and sighed.

“You never did anything like that back then. Make fun of me, I mean.” Yuuri laughed, a punched-out sound that he nearly choked on. “Making fun? What in the world did I do to tease you, you were busy all evening!”

With a snarl, Victor grabbed hold of the lapels of his suit and drew him a little closer. “Playing cute now? I SAW you dance with Chris, with the others. Everyone but me. And when you finally, finally decide that I’m good enough now, you turn me on so much I can barely remember my own name and then walk off with my best friend? Oh, and let’s not forget the comment earlier? About the tie?”

Yuuri whimpered, the sound dying in his throat when Victor’s fingers only pulled harder on his suit. He could feel it wrinkle, himself inches from Victor. Too much distance between them… or not enough, if he had any sense left.

Clearly, he did not, and so he leaned into the hold.

“Yes, I danced with Chris and a bunch of people whose names I didn’t even know. I danced with you when you were actually free for once, and I took Chris here to show him your medal. The Olympic one. The comment earlier was me not knowing when to keep my mouth shut. I didn’t even mean to say it.”

Victor’s fingers released him, slowly. He didn’t put any more distance between them.

“You… weren’t making fun? Trying to hurt me?”

At the man’s soft tone, he let some of the affection that was threatening to spill from his heart show in his face. “I _never_ tried to hurt you, Victor. Not then, not now.” Blue eyes fluttered shut and something like pain washed over his face. Before he could think better of it, Yuuri pressed a kiss to his forehead, casually sweeping his bangs out of the way.

“You DID hurt me.” Had Yuuri been any further away, he’d have missed the choked words. His arms wrapped around the younger man, pressing their bodies flush together in a hug that surprised them both.

“I know, I know I did. I didn’t… understand, not until the notebook. I always thought you were playing. I had no idea that you… that you regretted lying.” Victor huffed. “Of course I regretted it… I just didn’t think I had a choice. You’d have never accepted me, otherwise. Would you have?”

He leaned back far enough that he could look into Yuuri’s face. It was tempting, to lie, it really was.

He couldn’t do it.

Slowly shaking his head, he sighed. “No, I wouldn’t have. Sixteen was… it’s just too young. I would have never even approached you.” Victor nodded, his breath hitching a little bit.

Yuuri licked his lips at their sheer proximity, suddenly mesmerised again by the man so close to him. He’d almost forgotten the effect the other had on him. Making a conscious effort not to draw him closer, not to do anything stupid, Yuuri held still.

“Yuuri?”

“Hm?”

Victor shivered in his loose hold. “I’m… not sixteen anymore.” Where moments ago, Yuuri hadn’t wanted to move away, he now found himself scrambling backwards, putting distance between them.

“What… do you mean?” Victor took a shuddering breath. “You’ve read the notebook? The diary?” “Of course. It helped me understand… a lot.” The skater nodded. “Then… then you know how I felt about you. I suppose it would have made sense to mention… I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”

Yuuri stopped breathing.

“You… still? After five years?” Victor shrugged. “I told you I’d wait decades if I had to.” “I broke your heart.” “Yes.” “And you still want…” “Yes.” The younger man repeated, sounding absolutely sure.

On instinct, Yuuri reached out, brushed his hand against Victor’s cheek, chuckling when the other man leaned into his touch eagerly, eyes fluttering closed.

“Tell me, Vitya? Please? Tell me what wasn’t in the book?” The other man shivered, trembled almost. “I was… lost. Hurt, heartbroken. It got really bad for a while. I couldn’t feel much of anything. But then… I got better. The pain faded. I realised I was angry at you. You threw me away without giving me a chance. I was angry at myself too. We never really spoke. I thought I’d stop loving you at some point, but I never did.”

Victor swallowed thickly. “Then… I was going to wait, I really was. Maybe… maybe see you once in a while, just to make sure you were okay. Nothing more. But then you came to Skate America and I thought, maybe… but you left after I skated.”

“I wouldn’t have known how to meet you. If you wanted to.” They shared a long look of understanding, a shared misunderstanding – they could have, should have… Yuuri shook it off. “Then you sent me another bottle of whiskey.”

“Do you remember the part I wrote about a do-over? About just… making you happy? That’s what I wanted. No pressure on you, just things you like. That’s all it was going to be. And then… well, the video was eye-opening.”

Victor cursed, lowly, in Russian. Yuuri wasn’t fluent but he’d picked up a few things listening to the other man’s interviews in his native tongue. “You liked it?” “Yuuuuuri!” Victor moaned, the sound shooting through him as a stab of pure desire.

“Of course I liked it. I couldn’t think about anything but those heels… your legs, dancing, just… you. I must have watched it a hundred times, probably more. I didn’t even notice the caption at first. When I did… well…”

Yuuri chuckled. “I bought a display cabinet. For all the medals. I was so MAD! How could you just… your entire career!” Victor snorted. “Not the entire career, just the gold. I have half a dozen silver and one or two bronze at home still. I wanted you to have it… the dance, it meant the world to me. After that, I couldn’t stop myself from being selfish. Sending you gifts wasn’t enough AGAIN…”

He broke off, his voice breaking a little.

“You invited me here… for this?” “No! No… I wanted you to see me skate. You know that I like… performing. If that was the way to get your attention back… I didn’t know what you came for either. Did you want me back? Did you just want to be friends? Did you come to tell me I needed to stop being a creepy stalker?”

“The flowers.” Yuuri mumbled. “The flowers. You sent me… white roses. I wore one, I hoped you’d notice. That maybe… you’d come to me, if I showed you, I accepted. And then you didn’t come but you sent MORE flowers. Pink roses. I thought maybe I had been too subtle, so I made the crown. You STILL didn’t come, but…”

Victor didn’t continue but Yuuri thought he understood anyway, that niggling feeling in the back of his mind that he had to do SOMETHING to make it better. He stroked his fingers over Victor’s cheek again. “I thought you wanted to be friends. That was fine, Yuuri, really. But then you and Chris…”

Anger flashed across his features.

To soothe it, Yuuri pulled Victor into a loose hug, giving him every chance to pull away. His heart soared when he didn’t.

“I never wanted Chris. Not at all. There is something I want to know, about your diary…” “Ah, actually, I edited it? You don’t have all the pages.” “Sorry?” “Well, I know how… disgusted you were, that I was so young. I took out all the descriptions that were too explicit. I also sort of didn’t include the really embarrassing ones?”

Yuuri leaned back, squinting at Victor. “What do you mean embarrassing?” “I have at least three pages that have Victor Katsuki and Yuuri Katsuki-Nikiforov and such doodled on them.” “That’s… wow.”

He couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up in his chest, not even when Victor pouted in a way that would rival a dog. He only stopped when his sides hurt from it. “I don’t know what to say.” He eventually said, breath returning to normal.

Something beautiful, vulnerable flashed through Victor’s eyes, all traces of the earlier anger wiped away. “Well, you could start by telling me… telling me that I haven’t made a complete fool of myself? I don’t expect you to just forgive me, and I’ll abide by whatever decision you make. But… do you think you can forgive me at some point in the future? For hurting you?”

They stared into each other’s eyes for a few moments, brown into blue and blue into brown. It wasn’t even a question, really.

“Only if you forgive me for hurting you back. I reacted badly.” “You had every right-” He silenced Victor with a finger on his lips. “No. I had NO right to break your heart like that. I regret it very much. You didn’t deserve pain just for making a mistake.”

Victor pressed a kiss to his finger before pulling back a little. “That’s… good then? We can be… something again?” “We never discussed what we were back then either. Maybe now… would be good? What do you want to be, Victor?”

The younger man sighed softly. “I want whatever you can give me. If you just… want to keep going like before, I’m fine with that. If you want more, I’ll give you that too. Just… you need to tell me what you’re comfortable with.”

“This needs to be both of us. Do you… do you want this to be… sexual? Romantic? Friendly?” Victor shrugged. “All of that? Any of it. I just… I’ve been with other people since then, but never more than a night and usually not even that. It’s always been you. Do you… is there someone? Five years is a long time.”

Yuuri closed the distance between them, pressing their lips together. Unlike Victor’s earlier kiss, his was more measured, practiced, gentler. He could feel the younger man come apart in front of him, felt his body soften against the couch – it seemed like barely a day had passed, suddenly, since he’d last been with him.

“…Wow.” Victor breathed when he pulled back. “I don’t have anyone else. I dated a few people but never for long.” “I’m so happy Yuuri… does that mean…?” He nodded, eagerly, beyond words.

Victor seemed to wait for some kind of them but the only thing on his mind now were actions, not words. He pushed Victor back against the couch, straddled his lap, ground his hips down. It was odd to be the shorter one now – not that he much minded. Victor whimpered when he brushed his lips against the pale man’s throat, softly kissing a path up and down his neck.

Hands gently stroked his back, gripped his shoulders… Yuuri growled – he wanted to throw the man over his shoulder, carry him to the bed and absolutely destroy him.

A loud moan, coupled with a flush on Victor’s cheeks that he knew from experience would stretch to his chest, alerted him to the fact that he had… apparently, said that out loud. Oops.

“Sorry, Yuuri…” Victor mumbled, grimacing a little. “Uh, what are you sorry for?” “I’m… taller now. You won’t be able to carry me like that anymore.” He blinked at Victor. “Would you like it if I did?” The skater huffed.

“Yuuuuri! Of course I would! I still… I mean, the things I like haven’t changed much. I always liked it when you… moved me like that.” With a smirk, Yuuri climbed off him, standing between Victor’s spread thighs.

Just for effect, his fingers loosened his tie, pulled it off entirely and discarded it with a flick of his wrist. He made a show of unbuttoning his shirt a little, pleased when Victor moaned quietly at the sight. Then, without giving him a chance to react to the sudden movement, Yuuri wound his arms under Victor’s thighs, pleased when the man automatically wrapped his arms around his neck to hold himself in place.

Yuuri lifted him off the couch like it was easy – it wasn’t but it also wasn’t particularly difficult, not really – Yuuri had taken pole-dancing lessons, he knew how to move the weight of a person around effectively.

Victor practically sobbed, erection pressed to Yuuri’s stomach as he carried the other man to the bed and positively threw him onto it. He tumbled, gracelessly, hair dishevelled, and suit wrinkled, a look of hunger on his face.

He’d never looked more beautiful.

 

* * *

 

For the first time since they had met, Yuuri woke up in a bed… with Victor beside him. The other man was awake, probably had been for a while from the way he smiled as Yuuri’s eyes fluttered open.

“Hey.” He greeted, Yuuri’s heart fluttering in response. “Hello…” He responded, still shell-shocked that Victor was… there. He reached out, a hand around his neck, fingers buried into the shorter strands of Victor’s hair, just to make sure he was… real.

“Did you sleep well?” “Mhm. I wake up early… not at five though, Yuuri, that was cruel.”

It took him a moment – the flowers. “Well, I wanted to make sure you got them before your practice… not to mention you always used to wake up before me. Wake up… and leave.” “This time I stayed. Is that… is that okay?”

He smiled softly. “Very little could make me happier, right now.” His lover – god, he had a lover and it was VICTOR NIKIFOROV, wasn’t it? – perked right up at his words, mischief glinting in his eyes.

“And what might very little be? You know I love to make you happy.” He laughed softly because he DID know, that at the very least he had never really doubted. Rolling onto his back, he stretched.

“Tea and you feeding me breakfast in bed are about all I could want at the moment.” Victor’s smirk grew to downright smug. “Be right back.” Apparently unconcerned with the fact that he was stark-naked, Victor climbed out of bed and walked out of sight.

Yuuri admired the way the bruises and bitemarks he’d left on the man looked on his skin – he had felt a little bad for spoiling such perfection but then Victor had asked him to mark him and Yuuri would probably forever be weak to requests from the other.

Forever… now there was a thought that he enjoyed.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” Victor teased as he came back moments later, a tray in his hands. “My gorgeous lover, obviously.” Yuuri teased back easily – god, had it always been so easy to be with Victor? He mourned the time they lost – there was a lot to make up for.

Victor set the tray down on his lap – croissants, pancakes, butter, jam and chocolate sauce. A cup of green tea and a cup of coffee sat there as well. “You ordered room service?” “Mhm, before you woke up.” “How do you know what I like?” He asked, eyeing the pancakes, his mouth watering.

“Oh Yuuri… I paid for your breakfast several times, remember? Of course I asked what you ate. They didn’t have strawberries, or I’d have gotten you some.” Yuuri laughed softly. “That’s fine. This is perfect. Vitya… you’re perfect. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure that out.”

Victor gave him a serious look as the man sat down next to Yuuri on the bed. “Don’t be sorry. It’s fine. We both needed the time. We’re better this way, we can be better this way.” Victor reached for his plate, taking knife and fork from Yuuri’s hands.

He remembered his request to be fed, spoken mostly to tease the other. He hadn’t expected… well, he really should have. Affection welled up deep within him and for the first time, he let it build, let it crest until he feared he might burst from it. It felt wonderful.

Yuuri watched Victor cut a perfect triangle from one of the pancakes, softly smiling all the while.

“I love you, Vitya.” He said, quietly, reverently, not at all prepared when Victor’s eyes widened in pure SHOCK, the fork with the pancake falling from his fingers, nearly landing in his coffee. The knife dropped too, unseen behind the edge of the tray.

“You… what?” Suddenly, Yuuri was a little worried – had he said something wrong? He’d been babbling how much he loved Victor for the better part of their night, until he’d been too far gone for anything but moans and grunts. Why was the man so surprised now?

“I love you?” It came out as a question and for a moment he really WAS worried – did Victor for some reason not want him to… no, that was stupid. Still, he watched in mute horror as huge, pearly tears formed in the corners of his eyes, spilling down his cheeks.

It was unfair how gorgeous a look it was – Yuuri was an ugly crier, always had been.

“That’s… that’s not fair! You can’t surprise me like that! I had… I had a plan!” “Uh… a plan?” He asked, more confused by the minute. “Yes! A plan to make you fall for me. I was going to… well, there was a plan! You can’t just go out and say it!”

“But, Vitya, I was saying it all last night?” Victor waved him off. “That was sex. This is different. I didn’t think you meant it – just pillow talk. Meaningless, you know.” Yuuri scoffed. “It was never meaningless, Vitya. I’ve been in love with you for a long time. I'm so so sorry I didn't make that obvious last night. I thought you knew how much I loved you already.”

“My… feelings aren’t unrequited?”

“I have a poster collection of you, Vitya.”

“Oh. I... I have one too? Of you, I mean. Not me. Had them professionally made and all.”

Well then.

“We really are a pair of idiots, aren’t we?” Victor snorted and picked up the fork again, fishing for the knife too. “Well… yes, yes we are. But at least… we’re together now?”

“That we are, Vitya.” “For as long as you’ll have me?” He didn’t miss the hesitation in the other’s smile – of course not, because he knew now, understood so much more. He choked down the ‘forever’ he wanted to blurt out and settled instead on: “That’ll be a very long time, then.”

Victor looked satisfied with his answer and for a few moments, they just stared at each other, Yuuri barely able to believe his luck. How HAD he gotten a partner as amazing as Victor anyway.

“I love you, Yuuri.” “I love you too, Vitya.” The younger man beamed, his expression beautiful enough to make his heart skip a beat. “Well then, I think you said something about wanting me to feed you breakfast?”

Obediently, he opened his mouth.

There was much left to discuss of course… but between the beaming smile of his lover, the delicious smell of the pancakes and the hunger in his gut, he thought they could take a short break from the serious stuff.

He ate the pancake bite and hummed in pleasure – it was delicious. Chewing and swallowing, he studied his partner. “So, you know what my perfect morning is… what about you? I want to spoil you too, you know.”

Victor’s answering smile could have melted an iceberg. He accepted another bite of pancake.

“You don’t have to… but, if you really want to… I sort of bought you a few things you could… wear? Later?” He chuckled. “What sort of things?” Victor blushed lightly. “Shoes mostly.” “And you bought these…" "This morning. On my phone. While you slept. All from local shops and I asked them to deliver here.”

“Shoes, huh?” Victor shifted a little, his next slice of pancake a lot less perfectly shaped, no less delicious for it.

“Some shoes… some… not shoes?”

Yuuri tilted his head back and laughed – he was fine with both and he had a lot of spoiling to make up for if he wanted to keep up with the younger man.

He was going to have SO much fun doing just that, they both were.


End file.
